


private recital

by triggerhappyhope (starprise_entership)



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Second person POV, Vaginal Fingering, celestia ludenberg pov, friends with benefits situation, i just think. taka would make an excellent vampire butler ok, mistress of the castle celes + butler taka? oh yes, sensual but not romantic, taka implied to be asexual but not sex repulsed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27454168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starprise_entership/pseuds/triggerhappyhope
Summary: “Your fingering technique is rather impeccable.” You hide your smile behind the palm of your hand. “Perhaps I would like to see a private demonstration of that myself.”A dreary party drives Celestia to seek out some entertainment.
Relationships: Ishimaru Kiyotaka/Celestia Ludenberg
Kudos: 13





	private recital

You flash a victorious grin at him as you trap him between your body and the wall of the empty parlor. Though he does not reject your advances, his nervousness is evident as his face begins to flush a scarlet red. The blush across his pale skin complements his fiery red eyes quite handsomely, and you know you have made the right choice in selecting him.

“Celestia!” Ishimaru gasps. Normally, if he was any other manservant, you would have chided him for his impudence. It would have been way out of line, using your name like that. You are only to be referred to as _lady,_ _mistress_ , or at the very least _lady Celestia._ But Ishimaru is an old friend, and now your companion in more ways than one.

He stutters as he clumsily fidgets with his white gloves. “We can’t, not here, not now!”

“And why is that?” You tilt your head. “There’s no one around to stop us.”

“We are in polite company,” Ishimaru reminds you, getting almost snappish. “Your visitors are right in the next room, and it would be...quite a scandal if they were to catch us in a compromising situation, w-wouldn’t it?”

You brush him off with a nonchalant wave of your hand. “I could always send them away. It wouldn’t be difficult.”

“And what about tonight’s dinner?” You can already hear the gears in his head turning, calculating the next planned move. “If they won’t be staying for dinner, then I would have to inform the chef, but what then to do with the excess food material? It wouldn’t last very long in this weather, surely-”

“Hush.” You stop him with a press of your lips to his. “There’s no need to worry.”

His babbling has ceased, and he stares quizzically at you like your face holds the key to every question he’s ever had. “But your visitors, Celestia-”

“They can stay, if that makes you fret less. But I am so very restless,  _ Kiyotaka _ .” You lean forward, and drag your index finger down over his chest, weaving between the buttons of his fine dress shirt. “And I so desperately need your assistance.” 

He knows what you mean by that. It’s not the first time you’ve made such a proposition, nor will it be the last. Your head swims with sweet memories of getting tipsy on champagne. His hand at your waist as he twirls you around the dance floor. Then you pull him into an empty room away from the party. He is always oh-so-awkward when he does this, but you have never felt greater pleasure when his nimble fingers are slipping under your skirt, skimming the skin, and travelling  _ higher-  _

“Fine!” He pulls his gloves off, and stuffs them in the inner pocket of his coat. “Couldn’t we at least go to your quarters for this?”

Your lips turn upwards in the slightest semblance of a pout. “I would have us return back to my chambers, but my legs are so very sore after that extended walk in the gardens…”

“How long will Miss Kaede be around to entertain our visitors?” He fishes out his pocketwatch, squinting at the tiny hands. “She will be here for another hour or so, am I right?”

“That seems accurate. Whatever it is, if we arrive back here before she finishes her recital, nobody would ever know we were gone.” The heel of your shoe clacks against the tile as you request for him to carry you. And he does, because he is not one to refuse orders. To him, you are almost weightless, just a feather in the wind. He is physically strong - quite impressively at that, and yet despite what one might expect of a man of his stature, he can act quite delicately when the situation calls for it. 

“Thank you for the brief recital you gave earlier,” You coo, twirling a lock of hair around your finger. “I can see how hard you practiced for the occasion.”

He gives a light chuckle at your praise. “Of course. The piano is a complex instrument to master, and the only way I could possibly get better at it is practice.”

“Your  _ fingering  _ technique is rather impeccable.” You hide your smile behind the palm of your hand. “Perhaps I would like to see a private demonstration of that myself.”

He almost stumbles, but regains his footing before he drops you. You are a porcelain doll, too precious to be shattered upon the cobblestone floor. “T-That can be arranged, if you would want that?”

“And what about you?” You glance up at him through your eyelashes. “Surely there must be some fantasies I could help you fulfill.”

You have asked him this question on multiple occasions, but his answer remains the same every time. “Thank you for your consideration, but I don’t think that will be necessary.” He says he hardly gets much physical or emotional fulfillment out of your escapades, but he agrees to help you with your libido nonetheless as a ‘favour to a friend’, as he puts it. You can’t blame him for the way he feels, but at the very least you are placated by the fact that his participation is completely and absolutely voluntary. 

Though too rigid and a little harsh at times, there are perhaps at least some qualities that give him a certain endearing charm. If he had been in your pool of eligible suitors, you would have singled him out immediately. 

But it still stands that he is your servant, and you are his mistress. Any attempt at anything long term would surely end in disaster.

When he reaches your chambers, he gently deposits you on the bed with all the grace of an angel. Then he draws back, and kneels at your bedside as he slides your shoes off and casts them aside. 

Ishimaru presses his thumb into the arch of your foot as he awaits his next orders.

“Show me your hands,” you say, and he raises his right hand, the one not currently massaging your foot. His clipped nails pass your inspection. “Very good,” you declare. “Now, about your performance…”

“You asked me to give you a private recital.” He reiterates, making sure he has understood his instructions. “Very precisely, my fingers, am I correct?”

“Exactly.” You affirm, and he gets to work. 

The pads of his fingers glide along your inner thigh, tapping out the rhythm of that dainty gavotte he’d been practicing for the past week. His touch is firm, and you tremble with every beat he marks upon your skin. You glance down at him, entranced by the pleasant sight that is Kiyotaka Ishimaru, hard at work. His brows are more furrowed than usual and his eyes follow the movement of his hand under your skirt. With a dip of his head he presses his lips to the side of your knee, a soft, wet press that gives you a hint of what’s to come. Then he travels further up your leg to leave another kiss, humming a tune under his breath. Your breath hitches as he ducks under your skirt, disappearing from view. 

The side of his cheek is so heated as it brushes against your thigh with the briefest of glances. He is so very flustered when it comes to this. It’s not  _ shame _ , he tells you, nor is it quite  _ excitement _ . You figure that it’s more nerves than anything. Ishimaru tries his best to perform, and his efforts to do so always turn out quite splendidly, leaving you breathless in the end. Sometimes he has the tendency to overthink, and you wish you could tell him that there’s no need to try so hard. You enjoy it more when he’s relaxed.

Your skirt, heavy and layered, obscures the curve of his head from view. “Where are you, Kiyotaka?” He gives his answer with a heavy exhale, the humidity of it misting through your panties.  _ “Oh,” _ you gasp, your legs twitching a little. Ishimaru braces his palms against your thighs, and rubs gentle circles into them with his thumbs. 

“Sorry.” He apologises. “Was that too much?”

“No.” You bite down on your lip. You are a  _ lady _ , you must be  _ dignified,  _ especially when he’s just getting started. All you really want is for him to bury his face in you, but such an order would make you appear desperate. “You’re doing very well.”

You can hear the moment where he  _ lights up.  _ “Thank you!” You feel your skirts shift as he gives a small nod of acknowledgement. “I’ll try my best.”

“You always do.” You spread your hands over your skirt, and give his head a light pat. He knows what that means; it is time for him to move on. His hands are moving again, this time to squeeze and knead at your thighs. Your legs are coaxed wider as he moves your panties aside with a hooked finger, and finally his tongue joins in, with a gentle introductory press that sends heat down to your core. 

Your breath escapes you in short, hot bursts. He keeps his rhythm slow for now - not quite languid, he knows that he has to warm you up and paces himself accordingly. The space between your legs grows warmer with the heat of your arousal, and you instruct him to move faster with a roll of your hips. He takes the hint, and soon a new wave of sensation washes over you; a new flavour, a new colour. His movements are more fluid now, fingers and tongue working in tandem so you don’t know where one stroke ends and the next begins. 

You don’t understand how he could be so good at multitasking - his tongue is working at you like it has a mind of its own; the fingers of his right hand slip oh-so-fleetingly over your folds, and his left hand detours to the waistband of your panties. His mouth leaves you for a second, but his fingers take over. “Shall I take them off?” 

“You may.” You are quite out of breath now, but Ishimaru says nothing with regards to it. He is trying his best to be calm - there is the slightest hint of a tremor under the pads of his fingers as he works your panties down past your thighs. With a bit of shifting they slide completely off; he places them aside and goes back to work without missing a beat. His slender fingers slide down to tease at your opening, and you are so wet for him - there’s no denying it. He slides a finger into you in time with your breathing. He is  _ inside  _ you. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, but that thought comes up every time he does it. There’s just something about Ishimaru that makes everything he does so worth pondering over. You can’t put your finger on why exactly, but perhaps you want to leave that question unanswered. He is so logical, and yet you can’t explain him sometimes.

“Is this alright?” He asks. Even at times like this he is ever so respectful, only proceeding when he knows he has explicit permission to. 

You coo. “Yes,” and he slides in a second finger to join the first. The stretch takes a moment for you to get used to but he is patient. He soothes you with a gentle kiss to the junction where your hip and thigh meet. Only when you have relaxed around his fingers does he start to properly move them; gentle, slow movements as he drags his fingers back and forth, adding pressure as he goes. It doesn’t take him long to find your sweet spot - he has an incredible memory, as you’ve come to learn - and massages you in time with the gasps that spill from your lips. The arousal that has been building up in you takes a whole new form. The pleasure that he grants you is so rich you’re unable to think of anything else but him. It’s easy for you to say that perhaps he has a certain sort of natural aptitude when it comes to pleasuring you, but such a notion goes against his very core. He insists that his skill originates from his willingness to learn - and also  _ practice,  _ he has had his fair share of practice and he’s grateful for the opportunities you’ve given him.  _ How endearing. _ You figure that you’ll make that compromise for him after all - certainly a fair share of how well he does comes down to the enthusiasm he shows.

He knows you’ve adjusted to his fingers moving inside of you, and now his tongue is back in full force, swirling and lapping. The wet softness of his mouth is so very inviting - and you need  _ more _ , so much more of him. He gets the hint when you grind down on his tongue. You are close and you need his assistance in seeking the relief you’ve been craving - just a bit more and he’ll get you to the edge and past that. 

You are the furthest thing from dignified right now. Here you are, perched on the edge of your bed, panting and sweating as your manservant eats you out from under your skirt. You have one hand in the sheets, gripping them so hard your knuckles are bone white. Your other hand struggles to keep your sweat-soaked bangs out of your face. Your hips surge forward with every flick of his tongue - certainly jostling him, but he moves with the flow and continues to lick at you like he’s gone without water for days. He has an arm looped around your thigh, holding you down - and  _ mon Dieu  _ that should not turn you on as much as it is right now, but it is doing wonders for you right now and just as you start to wonder what other repressed ideas he could possibly awaken in you-

-you  _ bloom. _

Your breath leaves you in one long cry as the movements of your hips cease for a glorious moment. You are giddy - everything seems to be happening at once. Your body takes you through the motions of pleasure, and you have little choice but to follow along - like being carried by the river current - and after you ride that last rush into the ocean you are now a lot calmer, your body so light it feels almost weightless.

The way he tapers off is like watching the key on the back of a wind-up soldier slow down until it gradually comes to a stop. His tongue moves in slow circles against you to lessen the impact of coming down from that high, and his fingers slide out of you with a wet squelch. Finally his lips press a parting kiss and then he withdraws completely. His timing is impeccable - somehow he knows how long to do this before you are sore from overstimulation. “Good afternoon, Kiyotaka,” you swoon, as he peeks out from under your skirts. He takes a moment to collect himself, before retrieving the handkerchief he keeps in his breast pocket to wipe away the slickness on his chin. 

“How are you?” Ishimaru asks the question like he’s asking for an evaluation. “Are you satisfied?”

“Very.” Your eyes sweep him up and down, watching for the little touches of dishevelment on him. It’s times like this, when not everything is in place, that make him ever more alluring. There’s certainly something about seeing him not in his usual tidy state. “Is there anything you’d like me to do to you?”

His eyes go wide for a second after he processes your question, but then his hands are out in front of his chest, palms outward in a gesture of denial. “Oh, no. That won’t be n-necessary. I’m, um, not really quite in the mood. N-Not turned on right now.” He stammers his way through his sentences, before muttering an apology under his breath.

You’ve heard this enough times to know how to respond to him. You know Ishimaru always aims to please, but you certainly don’t want that to come at the cost of his own comfort and safety. “It’s not your fault, Kiyotaka.” You reach forward and cup his jaw in your hand, smiling sweetly down at him. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“Alright.” The word leaves his lips in a breath of relief and he stands to his feet, pacing around to alleviate the soreness in his knees brought about by kneeling. “I believe we are due back in the hall in a couple of minutes. We should freshen up and return soon so the guests won’t notice our absence.”

“Only if you carry me back,” you chuckle, eyes shining with mischief. “I think it would be quite impossible for me to walk right now, with that stunning performance you gave.”


End file.
